Memories can be left behind
by LucianSalesia
Summary: Some things have been forgotten over time, some things have been consciously pushed away and other things have been ripped away with no choice of your own. This story focuses on HRE, Italy and Germany.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Hetalia doesn't belong to me, I'm not that hilarious^^

Warnings: Amnesia, Battlefield gore, mentions of WWI

**Chapter 1: Rebirth of a Nation**

Germany was born on a battlefield, waking up without memories, bathed in blood and the guts of his enemies and his own soldiers. He had wandered the valley for days before Prussia found him and cautiously approached him. By that time, people from the villages around the battlefield had started to bury the dead and clean up the broken weaponry and bodies. They had never even glanced at him. Maybe he didn't exist at all, the small blond nation thought after a while.

Prussia found him sitting under a tree, leaning against the trunk, the blond hair crusted with dried blood, his skin pale and sickly and his blue eyes as empty as a dead man's eyes. For a moment he thought the child-nation was dead. Then those empty eyes landed on him, without recognition, without hope or desperation.

"West?" Prussia asked and the gaze sharpened, but still not in recognition but in surprise.

"You can see me?" the voice was barely a whisper and so broken from disuse that Prussia's heart thumped painfully in his chest.

"Yes, I can see you." Prussia answered and took a step closer before kneeling down to be eye to eye with the boy, his little brother.

"Who are you?" Germany asked, a slight frown on his young face and Prussia's heart broke. His little brother was gone, they maybe didn't kill him, but they took everything that was important.

"I'm your brother, West." he said, trying to be calm in the face of mourning his little brother. The broken little boy in front of him smiled slightly, his teeth were still bloody, even after days of being awake and wandering around, had no-one taken care of him? Had no-one had the heart to clean him up?

"Is that my name?" the blond nation asked and Prussia shook his head. "What is my name?" the question was dominated by a dreading tone, as if the young nation was afraid that he would lose something important as soon as he would know his name, and Prussia knew that it was true. This hadn't been the result of the wars, no, this was the result of politicians and the people, the wars had just made it worse. This wasn't the Holy Roman Empire of German Nation any more, and apparently it had changed more than Prussia had thought it would.

"You're Germany." the red eyed nation answered softly and Germany nodded, an unsure expression on his face. "And I'm Prussia." he continued his heart breaking a little more, because he had to introduce himself to his own brother, again. "I will take care of you for a while, okay?" Prussia asked and his little brother looked up at him and nodded.

The hand that reached out towards him was small and filthy, and so familiar that it hurt. He didn't care for his own state of dress as he pulled his little brother towards him and lifted him into an embrace. Small arms wrapped around his neck and Prussia could feel the sobs shaking the small body he was holding, mourning something that it couldn't remember.

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"_Be careful. When this war finally ends, I promise I'll come and see you again."_

"_Okay, then. I'll miss you. I'll be waiting."_

Germany opened his eyes and rubbed his eyes, wondering why his heart felt so heavy in his chest. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, pushing his legs from under the sheets to cool off and wake up a bit more. It had been many years since Prussia had found him and taken him in and he had grown into a tall, strong nation with the desire to prove himself to his brother and the other nations that dominated Europe.

He didn't remember anything from his dream, and he had long since given up trying to remember. It had been difficult in the first years. He always had the feeling that he was expected to know something, especially in the company of others. They would talk about something and look at him as if he should remember and most of the time he didn't and just shrugged or grunted without any interest. It got better with time and Prussia did help a lot.

He got out of bed with a shake of his head dispelling any morose thoughts and emotions that the dream had left behind. He had a war to lead, as Austria's crown prince had been murdered and, as Austria and Germany were bound together by the Dual Alliance, he would not hesitate to help his cousin in his endeavour of revenge. He didn't know, yet that this would lead to the Great War, which would later be called the First World War, for now, he just saw a chance to prove the strength he had gained since he had woken weak and disoriented on a battlefield he hadn't recognised.

And maybe? Maybe he would finally be able to wake up without longing for something he didn't remember.

TBC?

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	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Hetalia is still not mine.

Warnings: Feelings!

**Chapter 2: Vanishing into the Past**

Italy had waited for a long time. The Napoleonic Wars raged through Europe and his own house was conquered by France, but little Italy didn't care for that, because he waited. But there was no message, no word from Holy Rome. The wars ended and the leaders of the nations gathered in Vienna to discuss what would happen to the land that Napoleon had conquered and that the allied forces of Europe had freed. Italy's house was given back to Mr. Austria and little Italy was still waiting.

Now, that the war was over, shouldn't Holy Roman come back? The small nation would often stand in the piano room and look out the big windows, looking out towards the mountains, looking for the riders, for one specific rider. Then one afternoon, Mr. Austria sat down on the couch and beckoned Italy to sit beside him.

"I have something to say to you, Italy." he began and Italy glanced up at him, noticing the sombre mood of the bigger nation.

"What is it?" Northern Italy asked, not sure if he wanted to hear what was about to be said.

"The Congress of Vienna is over now, the last contract was signed today." Austria pushed at his glasses and looked down towards the small nation that his cousin had been deeply in love with and that Hungary had told him, had loved the Holy Roman Empire as well. "I'm sorry, Italy, but they dissolved the Holy Roman Empire."

There was a long stretch of silence, as Italy studied Austria's face for any deceit, for lies and jokes, but he only found pain, sorrow and sympathy.

"What-" Italy hesitated and had to swallow, before he had enough courage to ask the question he wanted to ask. "What does that mean?"

Austria closed his eyes in pain, for just a moment, not able to stand the look of anguish on the childish face of Italy. The next words were harsh, not in tone, but in their meaning. "It means that he wont come back, Italy. The Holy Roman Empire is gone."

Italy couldn't stand to hear it, he shook his head and tears were gathering in his eyes. "No!" he shouted and pushed Austria away, jumped off the couch and out of the room.

It couldn't be true. He had said that he will be back. Italy hid in the space under the roof, over the stables. The warmth of the sun from above and the animals from beneath comforted him. It wasn't true. Holy Roman had said..., he had said that he loves Italy, had loved him for a very long time, he said that he will come back, he hadn't lied. He hadn't died. It was not fair. Not now, that Italy had finally understood, why Holy Roman had always watched him, now that he realised that Holy Roman had often tried to help Italy in strange and awkward ways. Because he loves Italy. Because he had loved Italy. And he would not come back, to hear Italy say those words to him. Because he was dead.

Italy curled into a ball as the sobs wrecked his small body. Tears were streaming down his face and a soft keening sound came from the back of his throat, but he didn't care about that, because he had just lost something important and every memory about his interactions with Holy Rome cut deeper into his heart, shattered his heart into even more pieces.

Go away, little Italy chanted in his head. Over and over again. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Go away. Because it just hurt too much. He felt as if his heart was being ripped apart. Go away. Go away. Go away.

It didn't happen overnight, of course, but after a while, the pain faded. The memories got fuzzy and uncertain. Sometimes Italy was confused, why his heart clenched at the sight of a simple push broom, but just shook his head, blaming it on his long servitude under Mr. Austria and then went off in search of good pasta.

He didn't have many concerns with the other nations of Europe for quite a while. The structures of his own land changed, the city states were united under one government. He no longer lived with Austria and he had grown into a young, optimistic nation, standing as tall as he could, even though he wasn't the strongest, or a nation with a lot of political influence.

It were almost a hundred years later and Italy had mostly forgotten everything about the Holy Roman Empire. His heart was light and his mind maybe not the brightest any more, the industrial revolution was rolling over Europe, originating from England's house and it was difficult to keep up. The turn of the century arrived and with it the Great War. And with the Great War came a tall blond nation with steel blue eyes and a commanding voice, who took Italy as his prisoner, and despaired over the fact that Italy didn't fight against any of this.

There was something familiar about him and Italy didn't see any reason to leave Germany's house, because he felt save and cared for. And though there was a strange pressure in his chest, right around his heart, it didn't hurt and he couldn't bring himself to leave. Something niggled in the back of his mind, especially when Germany ranted about something Italy should be doing and wasn't, when he worried in his own twisted way. Why was that so comforting? Why did that make him smile? Italy didn't know. He just knew, he wanted to see Germany smile as well.

TBC?

Reviews? (It's like a drug^^)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine.

Warnings: emotions, misunderstandings and obliviousness

**Chapter three: Slow motion towards the Abyss**

The first time Germany discovers Italy in his bed is in the time between the two World Wars, when Italy had practically forced Germany into letting him work for him in Germany's house. To say it had been awkward waking up to a warm weight on his chest and a steady pulse of warm breath on the skin of his neck, when he knew that he had been alone when he had fallen asleep, was an understatement. The only other times that he had woken up with someone else in his bed had been when he had still lived in Prussia's house. But then it had been him sneaking into his brothers bed because he had been scared or lonely.

His first reaction therefore was going tense, because there was a definite breach of his personal space going on here, and then he maybe began to worry a little bit. Was everything all right, did Italy have a nightmare? Germany listened intently but there was no storm or thunder outside to indicate that Italy may have been scared by the weather. Maybe he had been lonely. Germany knew that the Italian brothers were pretty close after they had been separated all those centuries. Maybe he just missed his brother?

Nevertheless, Germany couldn't go back to sleep now and carefully extracted himself from the bed. He shot a look towards the clock-face shining in the moonlight, it was 5 am. The blond shrugged and made his way to the bathroom and then towards the work shop, those cuckoo clocks didn't build themselves after all.

With the steady work of his hands his thoughts drifted away. The only person, other than himself and even he was a little blurry, who knew what had happened on that battlefield was Prussia. Everyone else thought he was someone new, that the nation before him had died, and maybe he had. What good was it if he had no recollection of anything that had happened before? Just vague feelings and strange dreams he never remembers. And now? He was paying reparations to France of all nations.

He could feel the rage in his chest expanding again. Just behind his heart in a place where a mixture of emotions gathered as he spent more and more days trying to pay back France and trying to keep his people alive at the same time as the money lost its value with every hour of the day. A day of hard work couldn't buy anything any more and Germany could feel his pride chafe and his frustration grow. There was shame and anger, hope and the beginning of cruel thoughts, he knew he shouldn't think.

"Buon giorno, Germany!" the cheerful shout from Italy interrupted his darker growing thoughts.

"Guten Morgen, Italy" Germany replied and looked up from his work to see Italy with two plates in his hands, filled with two slices of bread and pieces of cheese.

"I made breakfast." Italy said and held one plate out to the taller nation. There was a hint of a smile on Germany's face as he took it and they sat down to eat breakfast together. The feelings in his chest sliding away to be exchanged for warmth and slight confusion at the familiarness of the strange flutter of his heart.

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It was dark except for the light of a single candle as Italy sat in the workshop and listened to the unsynchronized tick tock of the countless clocks stationed in the room. Most of those clocks were just the standard version of the cuckoo- clock, but in the evenings, when Germany's rage calmed down and everything in the house grew quieter, the blond nation would sit down and create something slightly special.

There was one clock where, instead of a bird and the typical cuckoo chime, a black clothed priest came out slowly, holding an open bible in one hand and lifting the other in the air as it held a tiny golden cross. All that to a deep chime which sounded like a church bell. There were more of these special clocks, with a man chopping wood or a baker being followed by a bunch of kids trying to reach one of the pastries he carried on a tablet.

Italy's favourite had a melodious little chime and when its doors opened, there was a dark-haired girl in a green dress and a pale haired boy in his Sunday best dancing and twirling around each other. There was something niggling in his mind every time he saw and heard it.

But that wasn't the reason why he was sitting in the workshop in the middle of the night. Italy was confused. After waking up in Germany's bed alone, he had thought that the blond nation had maybe panicked or gone somewhere else to shout out his anger, and that he would at least get a lecture from Germany or be thrown out. But Germany hadn't said a thing about it. Not one word. And Italy didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing. Maybe if he woke up first he would know. Maybe then he would know why he did sneak into Germany's bed last night and why he had felt like it was the safest place on earth when he had been pulled closer by strong arms.

With a small sigh he left for his own bed tonight.

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While Italy sat in the workshop, Germany was on the phone with his brother. He had just barely gotten out the words to explain why he called, when he heard his brother laugh, making one of his eye-brows tick in annoyance.

"And you haven't lost a word to the poor guy, have you?" it didn't sound like a question but Germany answered nevertheless.

"You know that I... am not... I'm not really all that good with all that..."

"Emotional stuff, Gott bewahre, talking about it, I know, West." his brother continued for him. "So let your awesome brother give this advice to you:" he paused for dramatic effect, which gave Germany the time to roll his eyes at his brothers antics. "Just sleep with him and don't be awkward about it in the morning after, okay?"

Germany thought about that advice for a moment and then nodded.

"Okay. I'll try."

"Gut. I'm going back to bed now." and with that the call was over and Germany put the phone away. He guessed he could be okay with Italy sleeping in his bed. It was just so damn startling to not notice the other nation sneaking into his room, not to speak of his bed, without him waking up. Not even his brother could do it and he trusted Prussia with his life. Not to mention that his brother had tried more than once to sneak up on him.

So why hadn't he noticed Italy sneaking in? What was so different about the cheerful nation that his unconscious mind seemed to trust Italy, while his rational mind warned him of the danger of letting someone too close?

Germany sighed while rubbing at his eyes. He would follow the advice of his brother for now and try not to lose his head waking up to someone in his bed when he knew that there hadn't been anybody when he had fallen asleep. He didn't know yet that there would be a second World War, though he felt the first signs of it in his mind and body. And he didn't know that after that war, after losing his brother to a wall and after losing his allies to the enemy, that he would lie awake many nights because his bed felt too cold and empty.

TBC?

Review?


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